A Flutter of Wings
by firearms57
Summary: Feyre decides to take her try at Rhys. Getting down and dirty with stimulation only to his wings. Feysand smut. One-shot.


Feyre let out a grunt as she thudded to the ground for the third time that day _._

 _Three times too many,_ she thought sourly.

She rolled onto her back with a groan and stared up at the sky. It was a brilliant blue, satiny clouds floating lazily across its surface. Sunlight blossomed from behind a scud, glaring angrily against Feyre's eyes. She squinted against the brighness, and instead swiveled her gaze to the sudden drop of earth at her left. The precipice was only a few feet away, but she was unconcerned, glowering at it scornfully. The thud of wings marked Rhys' arrival at her side, and she turned to look at him.

"I can't do it," she groused, staring balefully into his violet eyes.

He chuckled low in his throat. "I never thought the High Lady of the Night Court to be a quitter. She did, after all, survive being locked in a cell until the most

 _beautiful_ man she'd ever seen came to save her." He batted his eyelashes and clasped his hands together dreamily.

 _"Prick, she_ hissed.

Rhys ignored her and sighed mockingly. "Oh, well. It was a valiant effort. I guess I can always go flying with Azriel." He turned to leave.

"No." Feyre hissed and hauled herself painfully to her feet. She spread her aching wings, muscles torn from overextension. "I'm going to get this." Newly lit fire blazed in her cobalt orbs.

Rhys smiled winningly. "That's more like it. Just remember to unfold your wings this time. That should do something about your 'plummeting to Earth' problem."

#

"Remind me how to do this again?" Feyre was staring doubtfully over the cliff face, vertigo rising in her gut from the sheer height.

"Easy." Rhys unfurled his midnight wings and launched himself over the edge. Feyre couldn't help the sharp intake of breath, fear lancing through her veins. She released it in an angry huff when she heard the mocking laughter through the bond.

 _So worried for my health, darling. I'm touched._

 _Oh, I'll touch you, alright._ She sent him an image of her fist slamming into his face.

Rhys came back into view and touched down gracefully beside her. That gods-damned smirk was plastered across his face, she noticed, even as he drew her close to him. "Dear, dear, Feyre," his breath gusted across her ear. "I was thinking of a different kind of touch." He ran a hand down her neck, in between her breasts, and across her abdomen. He let his fingers trace the hem of her pants while his other hand kneaded the tension in her shoulder. "Feyre, you're so damn _tight_. Perhaps I can give you a _touch_ of relaxation."

A coil of heat twisted in her stomach at his teasing, just like it always did. Rhys hummed in satisfaction when a new scent wafted to greet his greedy nose. She smelled just as intoxicating as she always did, but there was something so raw and urgent about her arousal, he found himself responding almost involuntarily: a tightening of his pants and a haze of fog over his mind until all her could think was _Feyre_.

Feyre felt her heartrate pick up when his hand slipped just beneath the waistband of her pants. A rush of longing cleared away all thoughts of flying, and she spun to face her mate. The kiss was so unexpected that Rhys took a step back. He regained himself quickly though, slipping his arms across the bend of her legs and lifting her into his embrace, bridal style. He had more control this way, and he growled at the feel of her against his chest.

Something was different. Even as she kissed him, even even as he lowered to the ground and stripped her of her clothes, a sense of wrongness niggled in the single functioning part of her brain. Rhys trailed light kisses across her stomach, lowering himself down her body. The familiar anticipation was what gave away the source of her suspicion.

It was the same every time, she realized. They changed things up of course, new positions, different orders to their pleasurable experience, but the feelings were always the same. There was a certain style to their lovemaking, an unbroken flow. Rhys was the one to give more in the end, never letting himself finish without her. It was touching in a way, but a hidden desire to simply _dominate_ him came unbidden to the surface. It was time to do something about that, she decided. It was simpy unfair.

Rhys sensed a change in his mate the moment before his lips would touch her center. He hesitated, worried he'd done something wrong. He looked up. "Feyre—"

He cut off with a grunt of surprise as Feyre wrapped her legs around his chest and _pulled_. He was suddenly being flipped over to land with a heavy _thump,_ and he looked up, dazed, at the woman now straddling his waist. "What—"

Feyre shut him up by pressing a finer to his lips. "Hush, baby," she crooned. "I want to try something." She reached for one of the wings sprawled out across the ground and gently brushed against it.

Rhys' lips parted as a shudder racked his entire body.

Feyre smiled devilishly and continued to caress the edge of the tattered membrane. "Remember that time you told me you could finish an Illyrian by touching only their wings?"

Rhys' pupils were blown wide as he breathed, "Yes."

"Well, I wondered if we could give it a shot, spice things up a bit." She fingered the leathery pinion between her thumb and index finger, silently awaiting his answer.

Rhys was finding it hard to speak in full sentences. His wings were pinned beneath him, he beneath an evil goddess with a will. Normally in this position, Rhys had a clear view of Feyre, and that body, but it was near impossible to keep his eyes open with the pleasure flowing through him. The fierce tingling she'd wrought up sent hundreds of tiny shivers up his spine, like icy claws were whispering up his back. It was overwhelming to be in this state again. Amarantha had been the last one to touch his wings, to violate his wings, during sex, and it shamed him to no end that he'd liked it. That is until she'd nearly torn them from their sockets in the throes of her passion. Feyre had been trying to coax him out of his fears since then, and he was healing, slowly. He'd allowed her more access than he'd given anyone since the incident, and recently he'd found that it was easy, so easy to let her at them. Perhaps it was finally time to fully hand over the reigns.

"I'm waiting, Rhys."

"Of course you are. Waiting is half the fun." Feyre scowled. His voice was low and husky, but still he managed to quip at her. Time to change that. She fondled the connective joint of his bone, and his smug demeanor fell as a groan tore from his throat.

"That's more like it." She threw his words back at him with a self-satisfied smirk. "So, tell me your answer."

The answer was _yes, yes, yes._ Rhys' mind had lost all coherency, replaced only by hunger and labored breaths. He wanted to take her then, to thrust into her relentlessly, but Feyre was staring at him through hooded eyes, and he knew that wasn't what she wanted. "Yes," he breathed, anticipation gnawing at his gut.

Feyre smiled then, radiantly, and kissed him. The fuses in his mind winked out as she let her hands splay and spread across the general surface of his wings. She laughed delightedly against his mouth when she felt the evidence of his pleasure.

"It's like I'm touching you down there." She nodded to his throbbing member. "Except I'm not."

"And it feels better," Rhys gritted out. He gasped when she fisted the entirety of the bone.

Feyre grinned. Everything was going exactly as Cassian had said. When she'd first pulled him to a discreet corner, he'd smugly asked if she was finally realizing how much more dashing he was than Rhys. She'd growled and smacked him, and instead told him, quite bluntly, what she planned to do to her High Lord. Cassian had chuckled and folded his arms behind his head. "Well, you certainly know how to please a man. But it's not that easy. Illyrian wings are sensitive as hell, but it takes a long time before anything...happens. If you've got the patience, and the skills, it's a slow, but terribly pleasurable process." He'd then launched into an almost too descriptive account of his first "wingasm," as he called it. Cassian had bid her farewell soon after, claiming he needed to take a crap. Feyre had allowed him his leave, but little did he know that she'd taken a mental list of all the most sensitive areas. The gist of it was this: everywhere.

She massaged the membrane of the bone again, a long smooth stroke. Rhys moaned brokenly and threw his hips up. Feyre sat firmly on his lower stomach, drilling him to the ground. "Hold still."

She continued to tease the membrane, fire surging through her at his expression. His head was thrown back against the dirt, dust coating his fine black hair. She felt, rather than saw, the hard muscles of his chest against her thighs, but her mind filled in the blanks well enough.

The persistancy of her closed fist around the flesh of his wing rolled on in a torturously slow rhythm. Rhys hated it and loved it all at the same time. It was like standing at that peak just before climax, but never fully managing to reach the precipice. He wished she would hurry up and finish him, but when he reached a trembling hand downwards, Feyre ceased her motions completely.

Rhys groaned in frustration, but Feyre only tutted. "Have some patience, Rhys. Waiting's half the fun, remember?"

He managed to chuckle, but his throat was dry. He let his hand fall to the ground when she leaned forward to catch his lips between her teeth. The soft warmth of them combined with the tyrranical touch of her hands on his wings pushed him ever closer to the edge.

When Feyre felt the gentle, unconscious bucking of Rhys' hips, she knew it was time to set to work in earnest. She pulled Rhys into a seated position, the thick heat of him pinned beneath her thigh. She picked of the pace of her strokes, in time to that of her tongue, then reached further up his wings, past the large joint, the jut of the spine atop it, and over his shoulder. The tissue that connected his wing to his back was smooth as silk beneath her fingertips. It felt good, like old leather, and evidently Rhys felt the same.

He hissed out a curse as his cock swelled in size. Feyre stopped her caress suddenly, though Rhys swore at her violently for it. It was best, Cassian had said, to draw out the pleasure until it was almost painful. She planned to do just that.

"Feyre," Rhys groaned. "Please."

The want and need in his voice nearly broke her restraint, but she stuck to her coarse, waiting until he returned to a normal size before continuing to touch him.

"Just wait, Rhys."

And so she worked him higher and higher, each time holding him back just before he reached the end. It was agony, sweet, blissful agony. And then finally, finally, she gave him what he wanted. She kissed him, hard, right at the same time that she stroked the membranous bone that ridged the top of his wing.

" _Fuck_ ," he spat violently. Shivers racked through him as his entire body seized up. The pleasure that tore through him was enough that blackness dimmed the edges of his vision. He could feel everything, Feyre's warm weight atop him, his wings flared taut behind him, but the pinnacle of his ecstasy was pinpointed low in his gut. Rhys released himself under the tight cacoon of Feyre's thigh, the pleasure lingering long after he'd finished loosing his seed. When at last it ended, he was left panting, a ravenous hunger for her blazing under his skin.

"Feyre," he croaked. He turned his gaze to his mate, his beautiful, perfect mate, that was still absently rubbing his wings. He shuddered when she met his eyes, unrestrained passion within azure pools. "Feyre," he tried again, but he found he had nothing to say. He'd been saying her name because that was the only word he knew.

How was it?" she asked, almost nervously. It was ridiculous of course, but the feel of her anxiety through the bond confirmed his suspicions.

Rhys chuckled disbelievingly. She really didn't know what she'd done to him. "Fuck, Feyre, that was the most amazing thing I've felt in all my centuries. It's like...like—" He shook his head. "I can't describe it. But Cauldron, did it feel good."

Feyre smiled at him and let out a short breath of relief. "Good, 'cause I sure as hell didn't know what I was doing." She glanced out at the swiftly sinking sun in the horizon. "What do you say if we finish that flying lesson before the sun goes down?"

Rhys nodded his acquiescence, and Feyre made to stand up. He caught her hand and tugged her to the earth before she could go anywhere. He lay over her, switching their positions, and the hooded gaze he sent her caused the ache to return to her core. She'd had a hard time not pouncing on him completely after his release, but she'd held herself back, thinking him too tired for play. Apparantly, she was wrong. She could feel him hard against her.

"I thought we could learn to fly down here," Rhys whispered, trailing light kisses down her neck. "Give you a ride like you did for me." He let his hands wander across Feyre's wings. He'd been hard even after his release hit him, and the sound she made spiked his desire further. It seemed like they'd be here for a while longer, and Rhys was more than happy to stay.

"But what about the lessons—"

"Quiet, Feyre," Rhys breathed. He let a hand flutter between her legs while working her wing at the same time.

She sighed, closed her eyes, and let herself go. Lightning sparked at his touch, cutting straight through her nerves to send wetness pooling in her core. She was sure she was flying, her wings stretching to their full width. She imagined the wind whipping through her hair, Rhys' laugh in her ear, his thumb at the apex of her thighs. For her mate, she decided, she'd gladly jump over the edge. If only he'd get her there first.

#

 **Hi all! Sorry that this sucked. I didn't edit it. It's almost midnight and I have to go camping tomorrow (ugh, mosquitos). This was my first attempt at smut, and I hope at least someone out there likes it. If by some fabulous miracle you did, I'm so happy. If not, please critique in the reviews! I need criticism! AHHH! I need to go feed my cat now. Have a nice summer everyone!**

 **-Arya**

 ***Fixed a few typos and clunky sentences, guys! Thanks for the feedback. :)**


End file.
